


tomorrow is a long time

by carissima



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Art Ross Trophy, Groundhog Day AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 00:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: Okay, he gets it. it doesn’t matter what Tyler does, or how hard he plays, Jamie can’t win the Art Ross if Tyler’s on the ice with him.





	tomorrow is a long time

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted a groundhog day for jamie's art ross win with tyler missing the game and no one ever wrote it. write the fic you want to read, right?! a huuuuge thank you to bee for the beta and cheerleading, you're the best!

> **April 11 2015 (Day 1)**

Tyler wakes up to Uptown Funk blaring cheerfully from his radio alarm. Groaning, he reaches over to smack the snooze button, closes his eyes and falls back asleep.

Two minutes later, Bruno Mars wakes him again and Tyler kind of hates him right now. Rolling over, he rubs his hands over his eyes and stares up at the ceiling before he remembers what day it is. Grinning, he sits up, humming along to the radio as his mood drastically improves and he stretches his arms up and out.

He pads out into the kitchen in just his pyjama pants, pausing to drop down and scratch Marshall’s ears, before he pours himself a bowl of cereal. Marshall watches him balefully until Tyler gives in and fills the dogs’ bowls too.

“It’s Art Ross day,” Tyler tells him seriously. He’s leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, and he looks up as if he can see Jamie walking around several floors above him. “Gotta get Jamie a hatty today, eh?”

Marshall pauses mid-crunch to look up at Tyler before he turns back to his breakfast.

Tyler laughs and drops his empty bowl in the sink.

He’s feeling good as he walks back into his bedroom where Swifty is now singing about her next mistake which Tyler feels on a spiritual level. He sings along as he showers and gets ready, grabbing his practice kit before he pats Marshall and Cash goodbye and heads out of the door.

His phone rings just as he hits the stairs.

“Hey mom,” he answers with a grin. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in on my favorite son,” she says, like always. Tyler beams anyway because it’s the last day of the season, Jamie’s gonna win the Art Ross and Tyler’s gonna shove it in every doubter’s face, and he gets to go home soon and let his mom feed him until he can’t eat anymore. “How’re you feeling?”

“Good,” he tells her, like always. At least today it’s not a lie. “You gonna watch the game?”

“Of course,” his mom says, sounding a little put out that he even asked. She asks him a few more questions like he’s not a grown adult with a very successful career living by himself, before she circles around to the real reason for her call. “You’re flying in on Wednesday, right?”

“Yes mom,” Tyler drawls. He’s almost at the Benn’s place and he’s already forwarded her his flight details after weeks of her reminding him to do it. “The girls are gonna be there, right?”

“Yes Tyler,” his mom drawls, imitating his tone and making him laugh. “Good luck today, yeah? Make sure Jamie brings that trophy home.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tyler tells her seriously before he says goodbye and hangs up, slipping his phone into his pocket and knocking on the Benn’s front door. Jordie answers, looking slightly dishevelled, and he can hear Jamie yelling something in the background.

“He’s pretty worked up,” Jordie says, rolling his eyes as he lets Tyler in. “Won’t admit it, but he’s been pissy since he woke up.”

“Yo, Jamie,” Tyler calls and whatever Jamie’s been yelling suddenly stops. A few seconds later, Jamie strolls into the room feigning a casualness that doesn’t fool Tyler - or Jordie - for a minute.

“Hey Segs.” Jamie’s got his bag on his shoulder already. “Nice of you to finally show up.”

Tyler doesn’t even need to glance at a clock to know that they’ve got plenty of time to show up at the rink, but he plays along because he’s a good bro and Jordie looks like he wants to punch Jamie in the face in the next five seconds. “Sorry Captain,” he says easily, doing his best to look apologetic. Judging by the narrowing of Jamie’s gaze and the cough he hears from Jordie behind him, he supposes that he doesn’t pull it off. “Alright, let’s go. Who’s driving?”

“Me,” Jamie says decisively before Jordie can even open his mouth.

Tyler grins when Jordie throws up his hands in mock surrender and lets Jamie usher them both out of the door.

“Alright,” Jordie huffs when Jamie literally pushes him into the elevator. “Look, Chubbs, why don’t you just fu-”

Tyler slaps his hand over Jordie’s mouth to stop him right there, his beard tickling Tyler’s palm. “Ew,” he says, instantly regretting it and pulling his hand away. It makes Jordie chuckle though, so it was worth it. Probably. “You need to shave that thing. I think you’ve got birds nesting in there.”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t grow a manly beard like me,” Jordie says, stroking it as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Gross,” Jamie mutters.

“I wouldn’t want to cover up all this pretty,” Tyler says cheerfully, gesturing at his face and laughing when he sees identical expressions staring back at him.

The doors open and Jamie strides out first, clearly expecting him and Jordie to keep pace. He’s tempted to go slow just to fuck with Jamie, and on any other day he’d definitely follow through. He’s willing to cut Jamie some slack today because it’s not often that guys find themselves in the running for the Art fucking Ross on the last day of the season, especially up against Sidney fucking Crosby and John fucking Tavares, so it’s understandable why Jamie has a giant stick up his ass.

He’ll tease him about it tomorrow when he’s hungover and an Art Ross winner.

For today though, he keeps pace and tugs Jordie along with him to Jamie’s truck, sliding in the backseat without protest and smiling innocently when Jamie turns to glare at him in suspicion.

“Hey, you play your shitty country rock,” Tyler says, sliding his shades on and sprawling back against his seat. “I’m just here for the ride.”

Jamie looks like he’s about to argue - it’s more habit than anything at this point - when Jordie looks like he’s finally done with everything today. “No,” he says firmly and points to the steering wheel. “Drive, or we really are gonna be late.”

Tyler’s grin widens when he catches Jamie’s gaze in the rearview mirror, but he starts to drive without a word.

Jordie’s the one who breaks the silence when they’re about halfway to the rink and Tyler’s half-asleep. “You don’t have to worry so much,” he hears Jordie say quietly, and he opens his eyes to see Jordie wearing his Big Brother look. “You’re gonna win it, you know.”

“Shut up,” Jamie says, sounding less harried than Tyler’s heard him so far this morning, but there’s a quiet desperation in his voice that makes Tyler’s belly feel funny. “You don’t know that.”

“Well, I’ve spent 25 years being your big brother and watching you get everything you’ve set your mind on so far,” Jordie tells him. “It’s pretty fucking annoying, actually.”

“Not everything,” Tyler hears him murmur even more quietly.

Tyler clears his throat and watches the two of them jump almost guiltily. Jordie glances back at him, no trace of his usual good humor on his face. “It’s a lock,” Tyler says, feeling awkward and not really sure why. He hasn’t felt awkward around the Benns since the first day he met them and he really doesn’t like the feeling so he just barrels through it. “I’m gonna get you a hatty, Benny.”

Jamie doesn't say anything but when Tyler shifts to the side to get a good look at him, Jamie looks pleased, a tiny smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Tyler sits back, satisfied, and scrunches his nose at Jordie when he catches his eye. He’s got this. Jamie can freak out all he wants but Tyler is clutch. He’s getting Jamie that damn trophy.

When they step into the locker room, the mood is high as everyone wants to talk about Jamie and how many points he’s going to get in the game, while Tyler keeps an eye on him. He knows Jamie pretty well at this point and he can see Jamie’s stress levels reaching maximum levels.

“Time to hit the ice, guys,” he says loudly, amused by the stares he gets in return. “Shut up, I can be responsible.”

That leads to a whole cacophony of chirps that Tyler easily brushes off, nodding when Jordie passes by him with a squeeze on his shoulder. It leaves Tyler and Jamie alone in the locker room, Jamie still looking a bit terrorized by everything.

“C’mon Chubbs.” Tyler grabs his arm and marches him out to the ice. When Jamie’s skates hit the ice, Tyler can see him loosen up almost immediately and he follows him out feeling pretty great about himself. He’s clutch.

Between him and Jordie and Daddy, they manage to keep the focus off Jamie and practice flies by with Tyler mostly pestering Jamie and making him fight for the puck, making Jamie’s cheeks flush and his laugh finally ring out. Pleased, Tyler takes a break by the boards, breathing hard with exertion.

“You need to hit the gym more, Seggy,” Daddy calls out before slamming into him and brushing off his helmet, wrapping him in a headlock and giving him a noogie.

“Hey,” Tyler laughs as he tries to fight Daddy off, but he gives up when it’s clear that it’s a lost cause and instead dives for his waist and they both tumble to the ice, Tyler landing flat on Jason.

“Ooof, you’re heavier than you look,” Daddy complains, making no moves to get up so Tyler doesn’t either and snuggles a little closer. “Ugh, get your sweaty hair away from me.”

Tyler obnoxiously wriggles closer and Jason finally shoves him up and Tyler finds himself being helped up by Jamie, who’s holding his helmet for him. “Thanks,” he says breathlessly. They’re standing too close so Tyler has to tip his head back just a little to see him.

Jamie reaches up to put Tyler’s helmet back on him, and Tyler braces himself for the hit but it never comes. Instead, Jamie’s hands are gentle as he slides the helmet on and reaches under Tyler’s chin to fix the strap.

“Thanks,” Tyler says again, confused as Jamie gives him a small smile and skates off, leaving Tyler standing next to Daddy, staring after him.

“Oh, I’m fine by the way,” Daddy grumbles, one hand on his perfectly placed helmet to readjust it pissily. “Don’t worry about me, Chubbs.”

“Sorry Daddy,” Tyler says as he starts to skate away, shaking off the odd feeling that Jamie’s left him with. “I can’t help it if I’m his favorite.”

Daddy picks up his stick and aims it at Tyler as if he’s going to lob it at his head. Tyler skates up behind Jordie for protection, laughing when Daddy pouts and lowers his stick.

They indulge Jamie by having lunch at his favorite steakhouse then Tyler’s back at his apartment for playtime with the dogs and a nap on the couch, Marshall heavy on his legs as usual because Marshall still thinks he’s puppy-sized when it comes to naptime.

His dad calls two minutes after Tyler’s alarm wakes him up, like clockwork.

“Hey buddy,” his dad’s voice echoes where he has it on speaker. “Ready for the big game?”

“For sure,” Tyler says around a yawn. “Gotta get Jamie his big shiny trophy.”

“And next year he can repay the favor,” his dad says.

“I’ll let him know,” Tyler says with a roll of his eyes, grateful that his dad can’t see him right now. Tyler never has to wonder which parent he inherited his competitive side from, or his ambition. “You gonna watch the game?”

“Sure, I’ve got some buddies coming over,” his dad says. “We’ve got some bets running.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow as he pets Marshall idly. “On me?”

“My money’s on a few goals from you, don’t worry,” his dad says, amused. “I might have a side bet on Jamie too.”

“Okay, good,” Tyler says, rubbing at his eyes and taking a quick look at his watch. Fuck, he’s got to get a move on or Lindy’s going to bench him. “Hey dad, I’ve got to go. Split your winnings?”

His dad laughs. “No chance,” he says. “Make your own bets.”

“My money would be all on Jamie,” Tyler says without thinking. He looks at his watch again. “Shit, I’ll talk to you after the game, yeah?”

“Bye son, good luck,” his dad calls before Tyler hangs up and shoves Marshall off him.

“Sorry bud,” he murmurs before he’s rushing around, grabbing everything he needs and almost running out of the door without his keys. With one last doggy cuddle, he’s out the door and heading for his car, his mind firmly on the game.

Jamie’s already in the locker room half-dressed when Tyler strolls in, tugging off his own tie and falling into his stall.

“You alright?” Jamie asks, leaning over towards him.

Tyler kicks his shoes off and looks at Jamie. He’s still carrying that mildly terrified look around that makes Tyler feel all weird inside whenever he sees it. Jamie isn’t meant to look terrified about anything, except maybe any time he has to speak in public. “We should go on vacation,” he says out of nowhere. The idea appeals to him though. Kicking back for a week or two with Jamie in the sun, lazing around with nothing to do and nowhere to be sounds like his idea of heaven right now. “This summer. After your surgery? What do you think?”

Jamie gives him a funny look, which is probably fair because Tyler’s never considered it before, but he’s thinking about it now. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere hot,” Tyler says immediately, just in case Jamie’s got any weird ideas about sightseeing or whatever. He’s all for a bit of culture but not right now. “Somewhere with a beach and a bar where I can wear shorts all week and you can wear one of those tacky hawaiian shirts or whatever.”

He’s picturing now and fuck, he wants it.

“Sure,” Jamie says in that tone that suggests he doesn’t believe that Tyler’s gonna follow through.

“I’m gonna book it,” Tyler warns him. “I’m gonna phone my guy straight after the game and book us a week away.”

Jamie laughs and reaches over to give him a little shove. “I said sure,” he says easily, then leans back into his own stall to continue getting ready.

Tyler indulges in a little daydream about cocktails with little umbrellas and pool parties before he gets his head back into the game and starts to dress.

The game, however, is a fucking shitshow. They lose a goal early and everything fucking snowballs from there. None of Tyler’s passes to Jamie are connecting and he knows he’s trying too hard, but every time he thinks he’s picked Jamie out, the puck skitters off a Preds’ stick or Jamie’s overreaching and can’t control it. They lose another goal on a turnover while Jamie and Tyler are on the ice and everything is going against them. By the end of the second period, Jamie hasn’t got a single point and Tavares has two in his game, which means Jamie needs at least four points in the last 20 minutes of the game.

Tyler keeps telling himself that they can do this, right up to the final minutes of the game. The clock runs down as Jamie extends every shift but the final whistle blows and they’re shut out. Tyler’s close enough to Jamie on the ice to see the slump of his shoulders, the tightness in his eyes. He knows how much Jamie wanted this, even if he’d never admit it. And Tyler’s been around long enough to know that Jamie might never get another shot, no matter how good he is, no matter how good he and Tyler are together on the ice.

He feels like shit and there’s nothing he can do except skate towards Jamie and tap him on the leg with his stick. He doesn’t have any words. He doesn’t have anything except 60 minutes of shitty passing and poor puck control.

“It was a long shot anyway,” he hears Jamie tell Jordie as they circle the ice, saluting the fans for sticking around even though the entire season has been a bust. “Maybe next year eh?”

Tyler feels like slamming his stick into something.

Jamie gets a few minutes to compose himself before he has to address the crowd, a microphone thrust into his unwilling hands. Tyler’s leaning against the boards, Jordie next to him as they watch Jamie turn towards the crowd and take a deep breath.

“I just wanna say a few words on behalf of the guys,” Jamie says. “We really appreciate all the support you’ve given us this year. I know its pretty disappointing that we set a goal at the beginning of the year and we didn’t reach it. I know we’re all pretty upset but it's going to give us plenty of motivation for this summer to come back next year and make the playoffs.”

Tyler watches Jamie all but throw the microphone away before he’s heading to the locker room, leading this team for the last time.

“Fucking hell,” Jordie mutters. Tyler couldn’t agree more.

The locker room is almost silent as they strip, shower and put their suits back on. Tyler doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if there’s anything to say at all, and Jamie seems equally taciturn.

It’s only when Klinger’s making noises about leaving that Jamie finally speaks up. “It’s not the season we wanted,” he says quietly, but everyone turns towards him anyway. “But this is the last time we’ll be together as a team, so let’s go out and have some fun, yeah? First round is on me.”

Daddy’s the first to let out a whoop, crossing the locker room to throw his arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “Can’t say no to that, captain,” he says cheerfully. “Count us all in.”

Everyone seems a little lighter after that, the noise levels rising until Tyler feels like he can breathe a little easier. Everyone disperses to head home and Tyler changes quickly before he orders a car and heads up to the Benn’s apartment.

Jordie answers the door, dressed and ready.

“How is he?” Tyler asks quietly, stepping into the apartment and finding Jamie absent.

“Trying to be realistic,” Jordie murmurs, his hand resting on Tyler’s shoulder. “You did everything you could, Seggy.”

“Yeah and it wasn’t enough,” Tyler mutters before straightening up as Jamie walks into the room, his stupid hair slicked back as usual. “Hey.”

“Segs,” Jamie freezes for a second before he manages a smile. It’s weak at best and it just makes Tyler feel even shittier. “Looking good.”

“Your hair looks terrible,” Tyler says because he doesn’t know what else to say. Everything else feels stupid and inadequate and dumb as hell.

Jamie laughs and gives him a gentle shove that pushes him into Jordie, who just wraps his arm around Tyler’s waist and holds on. “Well, it looks like I have my date for the evening,” Jordie says.

“You wish,” Tyler says, reaching up to stroke Jordie’s beard and giving it a good tug, making Jordie squawk and pull away, looking betrayed.

Jamie gets between them and pushes them both towards the door. “Not now, kids,” he says mildly, manfully ignoring Tyler and Jordie both sticking their tongues out at him.

The car ride is quiet and Tyler’s relieved when they pull up outside the bar, the three of them tumbling out of the car and into the building where a few Stars are already hanging out by the bar.

It takes a few rounds before Tyler’s loose enough to slide over to Jamie, where he’s talking to Spezza, Eaves and Fidds, slinging an arm around Jamie’s waist and leaning into him as he vacantly listens to them discussing their summer plans. Which reminds him, he needs to book that vacation tomorrow, he doesn’t care what Jamie says. They’re doing it.

“Hey,” he murmurs when Jamie hasn’t added anything to the conversation for a while. “Can we talk?”

Jamie looks at him and sighs. “Hey, sorry guys, we’re just gonna?”

Fidds waves them away and Tyler drags Jamie away from the team until he’s sure they’re not gonna get interrupted. “Hey,” he says quietly, one hand in his pocket and the other nursing a beer that’s too warm to drink. “I just wanted to say-”

“Segs,” Jamie interrupts, his hand coming down over Tyler’s wrist and wrapping around him. “Don’t, okay? It’s not your fault.”

“Okay, but it is my fault,” Tyler argues.

“It’s your fault that I was even in the race,” Jamie says, shaking his head. “C’mon Segs, I just wasn’t good enough. Coming third to Crosby and Tavares is pretty fucking good, you know. I mean that’s a pretty good year.”

“Yeah but you shouldn’t have been third,” Tyler argues because he’s still feeling shitty about today and he’s not sure when exactly that’s going to stop. “You should have won it and I should have helped you.”

“I’m not doing this with you today,” Jamie sighs, dropping his hand back to his side. He glances back towards where the team is standing. “C’mon Segs, I’m not gonna see you for the rest of the summer. I don’t want to fight about this.”

Tyler blinks. “What?”

“We’re not fighting about this,” Jamie repeats in his stupid soft Captain voice.

“No, what do you mean we’re not seeing each other this summer?” Tyler puts his beer down and crosses his arms, feeling defensive and he doesn’t know why. “We agreed to go on vacation together. Before the game. I’m gonna call my guy tomorrow.”

“Tyler,” Jamie says softly and Tyler can see it in his eyes. His big dumb overly-expressive eyes.

“Fine,” Tyler says even though it’s anything but. “I need another drink.”

He leaves Jamie standing alone and heads to the bar, lining up shots for whoever’s in reaching distance. He steadily gets wasted until his head is spinning and he’s draped over Daddy, who might possibly be holding him up.

“Where’s Jamie?” Tyler slurs, head resting on Daddy’s shoulder.

“He left,” Jordie says and reaches out to pet Tyler’s hair. It feels nice. Tyler hums and nudges into his hand, trying to encourage him.

Then the words slowly filter through his drunken mind. “Wait, what?”

“He left,” Jordie repeats, still petting his hair. Jordie’s so nice. Tyler likes him the most right now. “Don’t think he was feeling it, you know?”

Tyler frowns and lets Jordie guide him into a car and then into his apartment.

“Jamie should have won,” Tyler tells Jordie firmly as he dumps Tyler into bed, fully clothed.

“Yeah,” Jordie agrees, disappearing only to return with a glass of water. “Drink this, okay?”

“Sure,” Tyler mumbles, half asleep. “Night Jordie.”

He doesn’t hear Jordie leave.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 2)**

Tyler wakes up with a groan as his radio alarm kicks in, shoving his head under his pillow. He doesn’t want to open his eyes and face his hangover, so he’s just gonna chill here for a bit until it magically goes away.

He doesn’t register the song at first, but when he finally does, he screams into his pillow and rolls over to shut Bruno fucking Mars up. He doesn’t have a game today so he can unplug the damn thing and spend all summer sleeping in until noon and never hear that stupid song again.

Except when he looks up, Marshall is looking at him balefully and okay, Tyler probably can’t sleep in too late with dogs to feed. He stands up slowly, waiting for nausea to hit but apparently something is finally going right for him because he feels completely normal. Great, in fact, aside from the shitty end to the season and whatever. He fills their bowls and figures that since he’s up, he might as well eat too.

He’s just finishing his breakfast when his radio starts blaring again and he realises that he’s snoozed the alarm out of habit instead of turning it off. He briefly considers throwing it out of the window when he catches Taylor Swift’s voice singing about ex-lovers.

“What the fuck?” Tyler mutters to himself. What are the chances of the same radio station playing the exact same songs two days in a row at the exact same time? He needs a new station to listen to in Dallas, clearly.

He flops back into bed, pulls the covers right up over him and tries to fall asleep. He thinks he’s almost there when his phone buzzes and now he’s wide awake again. Tyler glances at his phone, ready to curse whoever is calling him at this insane hour the day after the season ends when he sees his mom’s name flashing up.

Groaning, he picks up the phone and answers. “Hey mom, I’m still coming home on Wednesday, I haven’t changed my plans.”

“Good morning to you too,” his mom says cheerfully. “Everything okay?”

“Not really,” Tyler frowns. His mom is usually pretty good at knowing when he’s going to be in a mood, and today feels like a big fucking mood.

“Well shake it off, you’ve got a game to play,” his mom says, which, what?

“A game?” Tyler yawns. “What are you talking about?”

“Very funny, Tyler,” his mom says dryly. “Are you even out of bed yet?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then what are you doing talking to me?” his mom sounds exasperated now, and Tyler doesn’t know what she’s been drinking but he needs to go back to bed and sleep for a week. Or possibly a year. “You’re going to be late if you’re not careful. You don’t want to miss Jamie’s big game, do you?”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Tyler sits up and rubs his eyes. His mom isn’t confusing, as a rule. She’s the most straightforward, plain speaking person Tyler knows. But hell if he knows what she’s talking about today.

“Tyler, you better not be hungover,” his mom scolds. “Get up, get dressed and get to practice. I mean it.”

“I’m not hungover,” he protests, because that’s the only thing she’s said this morning that makes sense.

“Good,” his mom says, sounding relieved. “Good luck today, yeah? Make sure Jamie brings that trophy home.”

Tyler blinks because he’s pretty sure she said the exact same thing to him yesterday, but before he can ask her what she’s talking about, if she watched the game then she surely knows that Jamie didn’t win anything, she’s ended the call and Tyler’s left sitting in bed, thoroughly lost and wondering if he should call Candace.

In the end, he does actually get up and shower, finding himself humming along to Uptown Funk because his life is a goddamn tragedy at the moment. His phone is ringing when he steps out and he answers immediately when he sees Jamie’s name.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks in his most cheerful voice. “Everything okay?”

“Well you’re late,” Jamie says and he’s back to sounding as stressed as he was yesterday morning, pre-game.

Tyler should probably give him a break though. He knows disappointment as well as anyone else who plays hockey. “Late for what?” he’s almost certain that they don’t have plans today.

“Practice?” Jamie sounds huffy. “Get up here now or we’re leaving without you.”

The line goes dead, which is quite frankly rude, and just as fucking confusing as his conversation with his mom.

Maybe he’s dreaming. Or maybe yesterday was a dream. Bemused, he gets dressed for practice, more to humor Jamie than because he really thinks that he dreamed yesterday up, and grabs his things, saying goodbye to the dogs as he opens the door to find two Benn brothers glaring at him. Or more accurately, one Benn glaring at him while the other is staring at the ceiling.

“Uh?” Tyler freezes, door half-closed behind him.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Jamie says pissily.

“What?” Tyler’s head is spinning. Maybe he is hungover. Maybe this is a whole new type of hangover where he forgets plans he’s made and his mom makes absolutely zero sense.

“He’s pretty worked up,” Jordie says, rolling his eyes and Tyler just stares at him. “Won’t admit it, but he’s been pissy since he woke up.”

“What the hell?” Tyler feels like he’s in the fucking twilight zone.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” Jamie says and starts ushering them towards the elevator.

Just like yesterday.

“What the fuck?” Tyler whispers to himself and earns himself a funny look from Jordie. Join the fucking club, he thinks silently, except then Jamie pushes them into the elevator when the doors open and Jordie opens his mouth and-

“Alright, look Chubbs, why don’t you just fu-”

Tyler watches himself cover Jordie’s mouth. Just like yesterday. What the fuck is going on?

“Move your damn hand,” Jordie says easily, shoving Tyler away. “You’re just jealous that you can’t grow a manly beard like me.”

“Gross,” he hears Jamie say.

Tyler covers up a slightly hysterical laugh and doesn’t say a word when the elevator stops. Watches dumbly as Jamie strides towards his car. Lets Jordie guide him forward, giving him confused looks as Tyler stumbles next to him.

Jordie practically manhandles him into the backseat with a whispered; “what the fuck is wrong with you? I can’t deal with two of you being fucking weird today, I swear to God,” and even fastens his seatbelt for him.

When he looks up, Jamie’s staring at him.

Tyler doesn’t know what to say. He remembers vividly what he said yesterday. He remembers all of this from yesterday and he’s obviously going crazy. He needs a fucking vacation or something.

“Come on,” Jordie sighs when he’s settled into the passenger seat and Jamie’s still staring at Tyler. “Drive or we’re gonna be late.”

Right on cue, Tyler watches Jordie turn to Jamie and say, “You don’t have to worry so much, you’re gonna win it you know.”

“Shut up,” Tyler whispers in sync with Jamie saying the same exact words, his heart beating fast as his gaze whips between the two brothers. “You don’t know that.”

Except Tyler does know. He’s lived this day already, in a dream or some psychic shit or something. He knows Jamie doesn’t win and he slowly freaks out some more as Jamie and Jordie whisper together. Tyler doesn’t need to listen in because he _already knows what they’re saying_.

The locker room is exactly as he remembers yesterday. He winces every time he hears someone talking about the Art Ross like it’s already Jamie’s and he keeps his head down, desperate to get dressed and out on the ice as soon as possible so that he doesn’t have to sit through this. It’s fucking painful.

He rushes through everything so quickly that he’s the first on the ice.

“Seggy,” Lindy greets him in surprise, and Tyler gets it, okay? He’s never the first one out here.

“Coach,” Tyler says, his face flushed as he steps onto the ice. He’s skating in lazy circles when the rest of the team slowly join him, all of them sending him weird looks that he ignores.

He spends the entire time blocking out all talk about the game, keeping his head down and focusing. He doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on but today hasn’t been identical to yesterday, perhaps he still has time to change the outcome of the game. He listens to every word Lindy barks at them, skates so hard that Curt tells him to wind it down and save it for the game.

“You need to hit the gym more,” Daddy says, slamming into him before Tyler can react and save his helmet. He watches it bounce to the ice as Daddy manhandles him.

Tyler sighs and gives Daddy a push. This time they both stay on their skates and Tyler tries not to see the way Daddy’s staring at him in concern.

“Everything okay?” Jason asks finally.

“Yeah, fine,” Tyler shrugs before turning to pick up his helmet, which is already in Jamie’s hands. Tyler bites back a groan as Jamie looks sheepishly at him.

“Here,” Jamie says, sounding a little apprehensive even as he’s reaching over to put the helmet back on Tyler’s head and Tyler’s possibly never moved so fast in his life as he backs away. Jamie blinks at him in surprise and Tyler snatches the helmet out of Jamie’s hands, feeling shaken and confused.

“I’ve got it thanks,” Tyler says breathlessly, goddammit, and he skates away.

“What the fuck is up with him?” he hears Daddy ask Jamie before he skates out of range and straight into Jordie, who just about saves him from crashing to the ice and seriously injuring both of them.

“Hey, what the hell?” Jordie sets him upright. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Tyler says, feeling anything but.

Lunch is excruciating, between Jamie’s anxiety and Tyler freaking out while Daddy and Jordie give them both worried looks and pretend that everything’s fine.

*

His dad calls right on time. Not that Tyler’s napped, since he’s all worked up and can’t relax for a minute.

“Hey buddy, ready for the big game?”

Tyler pretty much gives up any hope of today going any differently to yesterday. “Sure,” he says flatly.

“You don’t sound it,” his dad says and Tyler can practically hear his frown over the line. “Your head’s in the game?”

“Definitely,” Tyler says firmly, because that’s the one thing he’s sure of today. He gets a redo in the game, and maybe he can get Jamie his points this time. He’s pretty determined.

“Good, because I’ve got some buddies coming over,” his dad says.

Tyler feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. “You’ve got some bets on,” he says before his dad can tell him. “On me and Jamie.”

There’s a pause. “Yeah,” his dad says slowly. “I wouldn’t bet on anyone else, would I?”

“No,” Tyler says, closing his eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

“Well, good luck out there, son,” his dad says, sounding bemused. “You’ve probably got to head to the rink soon.”

“Yeah,” Tyler supposes. “Thanks for calling, Dad.”

His dad hangs up and Tyler opens his eyes to stare at Cash, who’s looking mournfully at him.

“I don’t know what the hell is happening,” he tells his dog, who stares back solemnly. “But I’m gonna get Jamie those four points.”

*

Jamie looks way more terrified today than yesterday, Tyler realizes when he sees him in the locker room, and that’s not going to help him on the ice. Tyler needs Jamie to be in the best frame of mind if they’re going to change the game’s outcome today.

“Hey.” He sits himself down next to Jamie, crowding close. Jamie looks up, tension written all over him. “You know you can do this, right?”

Jamie looks surprised. “You think so?”

“Of course I do,” Tyler says, vaguely offended. He knows Jamie _can_ do it. But unfortunately he also knows that Jamie didn’t do it yesterday.

“Oh,” Jamie says softly. “I guess - I mean, you didn’t say anything today?”

Tyler instantly feels guilty. “Jamie, c’mon,” he says, bumping his head gently against Jamie’s. “You know better than that.”

Jamie practically folds into him, his tension seemingly melting away. “Sorry,” he says. “Today’s just been really weird.”

Tyler huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Jamie grins at him and Tyler suddenly feels much better. “We’ve got this,” he promises.

*

They don’t have this. They very much don’t have this.

If anything, it’s worse than yesterday. Jamie scores, but it’s in the wrong net and of course that’s the game winning goal.

It’s torture to listen to Jamie’s short speech again. He’s the first off the ice this time, the first in the showers and the first dressed. Jamie keeps shooting him hurt looks but Tyler can’t. It was awful yesterday. To live through it again is just cruel and agonizingly painful. He leaves before Jamie can do his Captain thing again and invite the team out. He heads home, puts his phone on silent and crawls into bed with Marshall and Cash. He doesn’t answer the door when Jordie pounds on it for what seems like hours before he finally leaves.

When he finally checks his phone, he’s got messages from everyone asking where he is, a few texts from Jordie that he deletes without reading and just one from Jamie with a single, solitary question mark.

Tyler sends him a simple _sorry_ before he turns his phone off and closes his eyes, waiting for the day to finally end.

 

**11 April 2015 (Day 3)**

Bruno Mars wakes him up, again, and Tyler rips the plug out of the socket and throws the radio across the room. He immediately regrets it because he has to clean it up in case one of the dogs gets near it, but it’s still vaguely satisfying. He’ll take what he can get right now.

He gets up, feeds the dogs, eats breakfast and gets in the shower. He talks to his mom on his way to the Benn’s apartment and assures her for the third time that he’s still flying in on Wednesday. Except Wednesday is never going to arrive because he’s stuck in some shitty time warp where it’s always Saturday, never Wednesday, and he’s being forced to watch Jamie have the worst day ever over and over again.

Jordie answers the door and Tyler pushes past him.

“Oh great, you’re pissy too,” Jordie grumbles.

Jamie walks into the room and Tyler can’t believe that he has to do this again.

“You ready?” he asks before Jamie can get snippy with him.

“Well, this is gonna be a fun ride,” Jordie says cheerfully, his smile not slipping even when both Tyler and Jamie turn to glare at him. “Shall we go?”

No one speaks in the elevator.

“I’m driving,” Jamie announces as they step outside and Tyler doesn’t bother to contain his eye roll. He jumps in the backseat and shoves his sunglasses on, deliberately turning his face to look out the window.

“Come on,” Jordie says. “Drive or we’re gonna be late.”

Tyler closes his eyes as the ignition starts and pretends he doesn’t hear the brothers talking quietly.

He’s frustrated when he walks into the locker room and it just gets worse when he hits the ice. He’s slow and making lazy passes because what’s the point when it always ends with Jamie staring at him with his big sad eyes, apologizing to an entire arena for not being good enough.

“Seguin!” Lindy barks out, startling Tyler from his sulk. “Get your head straight, you’re being sloppy.”

“No shit,” Tyler says.

Lindy narrows his gaze. “Well, do you think you might join the rest of us for one more game?”

“What’s the fucking point?” Tyler says. He genuinely means it, but Lindy skates over and tells him quietly to get off the ice.

“You’re scratched,” Lindy says in a tone that brooks no argument, but Tyler doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to play. He doesn’t want to see Jamie sad and angry at himself. He doesn’t want to hope that today will be different when he knows it won’t be.

So he skates off without looking at any of his teammates, especially Jamie, and gets changed alone. Lindy calls him in for a dressing down that Tyler vaguely listens to, although what’s the point when he’ll just be here again tomorrow, doing the same old shit, stuck in a perpetual cycle of frustration.

He doesn’t answer when his dad calls. Ignores the angry text he gets when his dad realizes he’s been scratched.

Dressed in his best suit, Tyler walks straight past the locker room and heads up to the press box. He’s sipping at a bottle of water and watching the game with absolutely no interest since he knows the score, but if he doesn’t at least pretend to watch, someone’s going to notice. He’s so sure of the loss that he almost misses Jamie’s shot hit the back of the net.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs to himself, sitting a bit further forward. Jamie hasn’t scored in the previous two days when they’ve played this game. Taking a deep breath, Tyler pays a little more attention now.

Until Forsberg scores and Tyler slumps back in his chair. He knew it was stupid to get his hopes up, but he fakes a smile for some of the guys in the box and pretends that he’s still hopeful.

Then Jamie scores on the power play and Tyler can’t help the “Yes!” he yells instinctively, jumping to his feet and banging his fist against the glass. Jamie’s halfway to the points he needs and there’s still two periods left. Maybe, he thinks, maybe.

There’s no goals in the second and by the time they hit the ice for the third, everyone in the arena knows that Jamie needs two more points to win. Tyler’s willing him on, regretting his stupid outburst this morning with Lindy because otherwise he’d be down there, helping Jamie to finally win this time.

Tyler screams when Jamie’s empty netter hits its target with two minutes to go. Everyone in the press box is right there with him, cheering Jamie on. Just one more, Tyler chants silently. Just one more.

If he wasn’t so worked up, Tyler would probably be amused by the comical way no one takes a shot unless Jamie’s touched the puck but he’s tense and excited and he really, really doesn’t want to see Jamie’s sad face again today.

“C’mon Jamie,” he whispers, hands clenched into fists as he wills him on. “You can do this.”

Cody whips the puck into the net with a secondary assist to Jamie and there’s deafening noise in the arena. Tyler watches the team crowd around Jamie, watches him duck his head. Hiding. Watches Jordie thumping his stick against the boards in excitement.

And he’s stuck up here, completely isolated from it when he should be down there. He should be the one connecting with Jamie and getting him this win. It’s fucking bittersweet.

He downs a glass of water because his throat feels too dry and listens to Jamie give the exact same speech as he’s given the past two days, not changing a single word despite the win.

He’s helplessly amused.

Tyler escapes the press box as quickly as he can, ignoring everyone’s indulgent looks as he pushes past everyone to find Jamie. He’s sitting in his stall, looking both stunned and happy, and it’s a good look on him. A really good look, Tyler thinks.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, reaching out to tug Jamie up and into a hug. “Congrats, dude. You fucking did it!”

Jamie feels awkward in his arms, but Tyler doesn’t let go and just holds him tighter. “You were fucking amazing out there?”

“Thanks,” Jamie mumbles, his cheeks hot as he avoids Tyler’s gaze, which makes Tyler grin. Some things never change, despite his best efforts to drag Jamie out of his shell. And like, he’s done a really good job, but clearly there are still improvements to be made.

“I’m buying all your drinks tonight,” Tyler tells him, feeling as giddy as if he’d won the fucking trophy himself. After two days of seeing Jamie slumped in defeat, this is so, so much better. He wants to drown in it while he can.

“Get in line, Seggy,” Daddy says, throwing his arm around Jamie’s shoulders and pulling him away from Tyler. He wants to protest, to drag Jamie back into his side and watch Jamie blush and stammer his way through everyone’s congratulations. Instead, he finds Jordie and they stand together, beaming stupidly and watching proudly as the team crowd around Jamie, who looks as awkward and beautiful as ever.

Eventually, Tyler heads home and changes into his favorite jeans and shirt. He’s about to leave and head upstairs when his phone vibrates with a message from Jordie, apologizing but they’ve already left for the bar and they’ll see him there.

Tyler frowns as he re-reads the message. He tries not to feel hurt that he’s been left behind, even though they always share cars when they go out, and tries to tell himself that Jamie was probably all worked up after the win.

He calls for a car and calls his mom and then his dad, explaining that he was scratched for an incident at practice that he refuses to talk about, and yes Jamie’s win was very exciting and yes he wishes he could have been on the ice with him, like he’s been all year.

He’s pretty drained when he arrives at the bar and all he wants to do is get Jamie drunk and happy, because Jamie’s pretty funny when he’s like that, all handsy and slurred speech, hanging off Tyler like he’s not got at least 20 pounds on him. And 20 hockey muscle pounds at that.

Tyler sees Jordie first and he gets a fresh round of apologies that Tyler brushes away easily.

“Seriously, I don’t know what’s up with him,” Jordie says, eyes bright like he’s already on his third or fourth beer. “He couldn’t sit still.”

“He’s allowed to be excited,” Tyler says, since he knows vividly what Jamie looks like when the outcome is different and he’ll take this Jamie any day.

It takes a while before Tyler can circle around to Jamie, since everyone wants to talk to him and buy him a drink. Jamie’s got that flush he gets when he’s had too much to drink and Tyler grins as he nudges into Jamie’s side. “Hey,” he says, dropping his empty drink on a nearby table. “You’re popular tonight.” He watches Jamie’s flush deepen, delighted. “I don’t really know why though. Your hair looks terrible.”

Jamie’s hand automatically comes up to pat his head and Tyler’s grin widens.

“I should go fix it then,” Jamie says and turns as if he’s actually going to go and fix his hair.

“Wait, what?” Tyler grabs his arm and pulls him back. Or he tries to, because Jamie is a solid mass of muscle and Tyler is pretty strong but he’s not Jamie-strong. “I’m kidding, Benny.”

Jamie shrugs, which is about the same time as Tyler realizes that Jamie isn’t looking at him. And, he thinks back, he hasn’t looked at Tyler since he stormed off the ice at practice.

“Jamie? What’s wrong?”

Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up and finally, he’s looking at Tyler. “What’s wrong?” he repeats incredulously. “You mouth off at Lindy and get tossed before-...” he stops himself but Tyler’s not stupid, okay? He can read Jamie like a fucking book.

“Before the most important game of your life,” he completes for Jamie, because Jamie will still not admit how much he wanted the scoring title. And the worst part is that Tyler doesn’t have an answer, or at least one that Jamie would believe. _I’ve lived this day twice before and watched you lose and I hate seeing you that sad_ is probably not going to win Jamie over at this point. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I swear. I don’t know what came over me. I wanted to be out there with you, I swear you have no idea how much.”

“You could have been,” Jamie says, his voice low and shaking like he’s really fucking angry. “You should have been. You’re the one who got me this far and what, you bail at the last game? For what? Because deep down you still think the world owes you something, right? That shitty attitude got you tossed out of Boston, Segs. I thought you learned your fucking lesson.”

Tyler can feel the blood rush out of his head. His heart is thumping so loudly in his chest that he seriously thinks he’s going to pass out. “What?” he croaks out.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” Jamie says, his shoulders hunched and his body language screaming that he really doesn’t want Tyler anywhere near him.

Tyler nods, unsure whether he could talk around the giant fucking lump in his throat. He watches Jamie turn and walk away, leaving him behind.

“Tyler,” Jordie’s voice breaks through the haze that surrounds him. He sounds apologetic and Tyler just can’t right now. He’s been through enough the past three days, but nothing as bad as this. Nothing as gut-wrenchingly awful as Jamie’s disappointment in him.

“I gotta go,” he says before he stumbles through the bar, gulping in a lungful of fresh air when he gets outside.

The car ride home is terrible, and not even Cash or Marshall’s enthusiastic greetings are enough to make him feel any better. Tyler crawls into bed and desperately hopes for a do-over.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 4)**

Tyler’s never been happier to be woken up by Bruno Mars. He bounds out of bed and feeds the dogs and himself. He feels a little shitty about Jamie’s lost Art Ross, but he’s determined to get this right today. He’s going to play, he’s going to get Jamie the scoring title and they’re going to get happy drunk together. He’s got a plan.

*

Jordie answers the door and Tyler hears Jamie shouting, just like always.

“He’s pretty worked up,” Jordie says, rolling his eyes as usual. “Won’t admit it, but he’s been pissy since he woke up.”

Tyler exhales and rolls his shoulders. He’s tense and nervous and okay, he’s seriously fucking worried. He knows how this goes by now, he knows that no matter what he does the day before, everything resets the next day and he’s the only one with any memory of what’s happened.

But what if some part of Jamie remembers yesterday? Remembers telling Tyler that he’s a screw up, that he’s selfish? He drums his fingers against his thigh and waits impatiently.

Jamie walks in right on cue and Tyler stares at him, desperately hoping.

“Hey Tyler,” Jamie greets him. “Nice of you to show up.”

Tyler breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. “Sorry,” he says, unable to stop himself from pulling a startled Jamie into a long, tight hug.

“Uh,” he hears Jamie say in confusion.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jordie says lazily from somewhere behind Tyler. “Can’t win the Art Ross if we’re scratched for being late.”

Tyler gives Jamie one last squeeze before he steps back, ignoring the questioning look Jamie sends him. “Alright,” he says, clearing his throat. “Who’s driving?”

*

Everything goes exactly as it should for the rest of the day. He talks to his dad and play-wrestles with Daddy and now he’s standing on the ice next to Jamie, impatiently waiting for the Star Spangled Banner to finish so he can stop swaying and get Jamie some points.

He might not be booksmart or whatever, but he’s got a hockey brain. He knows exactly when Jamie gets his first goal and he watches the clock count down with each passing shift. Lindy sends them on with thirty seconds to go and Tyler’s on edge. He sees Jamie break away with the puck and Tyler’s right behind him, stick on the ice, waiting for his pass. He’s right in position, exactly where Cody was yesterday but today, Jamie doesn’t turn to drop him the pass. Tyler watches in disbelief as Jamie shoots first and sends the puck wide.

“What the fuck,” Tyler yells as he skates past. “I was open!”

Jamie waves his hand in apology but Tyler is steamed. He had a fucking plan and Jamie’s ruining it.

He watches with increasing frustration as they end the first period with no goals and no points for Jamie. He doesn’t talk to anyone during intermission and plays harder in the second than he has in his entire life.

Hutton stands on his fucking head.

He’s almost running on empty in the third, Jamie right beside him in every shift, every breakaway, every shot on net that Tyler watches Hutton bat away or fly wide.

Tyler watches Jamie give his speech, holding onto the boards because he thinks his legs might actually give out. He’s still breathing hard, dragging oxygen into his burning lungs when they head to the locker room.

Jamie invites everyone out of course but Tyler can’t. He just can’t. He couldn’t give any more out on the ice and it wasn’t enough for Jamie.

“Hey,” he murmurs to Jamie when they’re both dressed and heading to their cars, Jordie a few steps behind on his phone. “I’m gonna skip tonight, okay?”

Jamie gives him a careful look and Tyler knows there’s weariness written all over him. “Okay,” Jamie agrees, to Tyler’s surprise. He’d expected at least a token protest. He must look worse than he thought.

He cranks up the radio in the car on his way home because he’s tired of thinking and trying to second guess fate, or whatever. He showers again when he gets home and crawls into bed with Cash cuddled next to him and watches three straight hours of the Kardashians.

There’s only one message on his phone when he checks it, and he wonders what Jamie told the rest of the team.

_wouldn’t have got this far without u seggy, u were next level tonight. next year is gonna be better!_

Tyler wonders, a little hysterically, if he’s ever gonna get to next year when he can’t even get to tomorrow. He screenshots the text even though he knows it won’t be on his phone in the morning when he wakes up, and buries his face in Cash’s warm fur.

 

**April 11 2015 (Days 5 - 11)**

The days start blurring together. He’s watched Jamie win the Art Ross at least four more times, each time from the press box and okay, he gets it. It doesn’t matter what Tyler does, or how hard he plays, Jamie can’t win the Art Ross if Tyler’s on the ice with him.

When he finally realizes it on Day 11, he spends an entire day in bed ignoring everything and eating tub after tub of ice cream.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, but at least he doesn’t have to watch Jamie win again without him.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 12)**

Tyler stays in bed long enough to hear Taylor singing about her ex-boyfriends before he gets up, weirdly feeling a little better today. Possibly because he’s finally figured something out, even if that something does feel like a hot poker stabbing him over and over again.

Jamie snaps at him for being late and Jordie teases him for his lack of a manly beard and Daddy pins him to the ice as usual, because for them, yesterday didn’t happen. Everything’s going as it should and Tyler’s beginning to worry that he’s going to have to actually play today and watch Jamie lose, right up until he’s skating away from Daddy and trips, landing awkwardly and immediately feeling the twist in his ankle.

“Shit, Segs,” Jamie’s kneeling next to him before Tyler can blink, his hands gentle on Tyler’s calf. Already feeling off-balance, Tyler leans into him. “You okay?”

“Twisted my ankle,” Tyler says, keeping the relief out of his voice.

“Can you skate on it?” Jamie asks, his eyes wide and worried.

Tyler goes through the motions of trying to get up but of course he can’t. Jamie helps him off the ice, still looking anxious, and hands him off to a trainer who examines him carefully with a worried expression.

When he hobbles back into the locker room, it’s empty apart from Jamie.

“Where’s Jordie?” Tyler asks, flopping down gracelessly into his stall.

“On the phone with Jess,” Jamie says impatiently, scooting closer. “What did they say?”

“I’m out for the game,” Tyler tells him.

It’s pretty shit to watch Jamie’s face fall, even though he knows it means that Jamie’s going to win the Art Ross later today.

“Fuck,” Jamie says, shaking his head. Tyler reaches out to squeeze his thigh, leaving his hand there when Jamie just leans into him. “Thats- fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Tyler murmurs and squeezes Jamie’s thigh again, his thumb rubbing circles into the soft material of Jamie’s sweats. “You’ve got this. I know you can do it, Chubbs.”

Jamie’s smile is wry. “Yeah? You think I can outscore Tavares? And Crosby?”

“Pfft,” Tyler says dismissively, pleased when he sees Jamie’s smile widen. “Those chumps? You’ve got this, I swear.”

“Did they check your head in there? Maybe you hit it on the ice or something,” Jamie teases lightly.

“My head is just fine, thanks,” Tyler tells him with a gentle elbow to Jamie’s ribs. “Go out there and win, yeah?”

Jamie sighs theatrically like the drama queen Tyler knows he secretly is. “Fine, I guess,” he says, standing up and offering Tyler his hand to help him up too. Jamie swings Tyler’s bag onto his shoulder and picks up his own too, his free arm circling around Tyler’s waist to help him hobble very slowly towards the door. “I’ll win it for you, yeah?”

Tyler goes warm all over at Jamie’s soft promise. He looks up to find Jamie staring intently at him. His heart starts thumping hard in his chest. “Alright,” he says, swallowing hard.

He hears Jamie inhale deeply next to him and there’s a weird tension hanging over them that only dissipates when they reach the car and Jordie’s leaning against it, tapping his watch like an asshole.

“Shut up,” Jamie tells him, helping Tyler into the front seat to Jordie’s disgust. Tyler leans back against the seat, stretches his long legs out and throws Jordie a wink over his shoulder because he’s an asshole too.

*

Tyler watches Jamie win the Art Ross laying on his bed with an ice pack on his ankle, which feels all kinds of wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times he sees Jamie score the same goals over and over again, Tyler still yells every time that final goal hits the back of the net and he watches Jamie skates around the boards, using their team to hide his face.

He knows his face is doing something stupid because his cheeks are aching, so he buries his face into Marshall’s fur for the entire duration of Jamie’s speech - he knows it by heart by now - and waits for the boys to skate off the ice before he picks up his phone and texts Jamie a message full of exclamation marks, followed by another full of celebratory emojis and then finally a selfie with the dogs that he captions with _knew u could do it!!!!!!!_

Not expecting a reply straight away, Tyler hobbles into the kitchen to refill the dogs water bowls and grab a gatorade for himself. When he falls back into bed, he calls Cassidy on a whim.

“Hey bro,” Cassidy answers warily. “What’s up? How’s the ankle?”

“It’s fine,” Tyler dismisses easily. “You saw the game?”

“Of course I did,” Cassidy says and he can hear the eye roll over the phone. He grins and slings his free arm back behind his head. “Dad’s been bitching about losing his bet since you didn’t play.”

“He’ll get over it,” Tyler says dryly.

“So why are you calling?” Cassidy asks bluntly. “You never call two days in a row.”

Tyler blinks in surprise before he remembers. It’s been so long since yesterday, the real yesterday, that Tyler forgot he spoke to both his sisters. “I just miss you,” Tyler says honestly, covering his hands with his eyes. “You know you’re my favorite.”

He hears Cassidy laugh and he relaxes a little more. “Okay, sure,” Cassidy says, amused. “I’m sure you say that to Candace too, bro. Are you bored without your little teammate buddies?”

“Maybe,” Tyler tells her because it’s the easiest excuse to go with.

He talks with her for almost an hour until she threatens to hang up. He makes her promise to come meet him at the airport when he flies in, even though she swears she has more interesting things to do than pick up her loser older brother.

The doorbell goes just as he’s saying goodbye.

“Jamie,” Tyler says in surprise. Jamie’s standing there in his post-game suit, no jacket and tie discarded somewhere as usual. His sleeves are rolled back and his hair is terrible and Tyler can’t help but grin stupidly at him. “Haven’t you got a trophy to celebrate?”

“They can start without me,” Jamie says easily, brushing past Tyler and stepping inside. Cash immediately jumps up at him, his tail wagging furiously and Jamie indulges him with a few head scratches. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Tyler says blankly before he remembers his ankle. “Oh, yeah it’s okay. I’ll live, probably. But dude, you just won the Art fucking Ross!”

Jamie flushes, which never fails to amuse Tyler. “Yeah I know,” Jamie says dryly. “You got a beer?”

Tyler gestures to the kitchen and hobbles over to the couch, taking the beer Jamie holds out for him when he returns. “To being better than Crosby and Tavares?” Tyler suggests innocently.

Jamie laughs and taps his beer against Tyler’s. He watches Jamie taking a long drink and smiles, snuggling back against the cushions. This is nice, he thinks idly. It’s by far the best end of this neverending day that he’s had so far. He nudges Jamie with his knee and sighs happily when Jamie nudges him back.

“You know you could be out with the boys right now, finding someone to suck your winning dick, huh?” Tyler says, just to see Jamie almost spit out his beer. “This is your night, dude.”

Jamie puts his empty bottle on the table and sighs loudly. “I’m going out after this,” he reminds Tyler, who just grins at him. “I uh, didn’t want to celebrate without you, you know?”

Tyler’s grin fades into something softer, pleased. “Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Jamie mumbles, rubbing his hand over his face, suddenly looking very tired.

“Hey, you don’t have to go out,” Tyler says, smothering a yawn himself. “If you’re tired. The boys won’t even notice after a few drinks.”

Jamie looks tempted for a minute, before he gets that dumb captain look on his face. “Nah, I should go,” he says, sounding like he’d rather do anything but. “You need anything before I go?”

Tyler considers the distance between his couch and his bed. It’s not that far, he supposes. “Help me back to bed?” he asks anyway because his ankle really does fucking hurt.

Jamie hops up and grabs Tyler’s hands, pulling him up effortlessly. He wraps an arm around Tyler’s waist and waits for Tyler to lean into him. Jamie takes his weight easily and it only takes them a few minutes to get back to bed but Tyler’s sweating a little and Jamie’s frowning at him in concern.

“I could stay,” Jamie says uncertainly.

“Nah.” Tyler gives him a little shove. Today’s already been much better than the others. He doesn’t want to push for too much and risk ruining it. “You go. Have a drink for me and tell the boys I’m there in spirit.”

“Sure,” Jamie says, leaning down slowly. Tyler blinks up at him in surprise, wondering what he’s doing when Jamie brushes a stray tiny curl behind his ear. Tyler’s breath catches just a little and then Jamie’s stepping back like the moment never happened. “Look after yourself, yeah? I’ll stop by tomorrow to make sure you’re not dead or anything.”

“Kind of you,” Tyler says with another shove that has Jamie grinning as he leaves.

Tyler listens as Jamie pads back through the apartment, hears him speaking softly to the dogs and then a few seconds later, the front door shuts behind him.

He lies back and closes his eyes, feeling the mattress next to him sink a little as Marshall settles in next to him. Today was a very good day, he decides, suddenly feeling very sleepy. A very good day.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 13)**

Tyler wakes up feeling great. He hums along with Bruno, whoo-ing loudly as he showers and gets ready for the day. When his mom calls, she laughingly asks him what’s got him in such a good mood and Tyler almost says “Jamie,” when he pauses halfway up the stairs.

“Nothing much,” he tells her instead. He’s not sure why he hedges his answer, but she’s moved on, checking that he’ll be flying home on Wednesday for the 13th time. “I literally cannot wait to come home,” he tells her honestly.

He knocks on the Benn’s door and pushes inside before Jordie can complain about Jamie. “Morning Benn brothers!” he singsongs, ruffling Jordie’s beard as he passes him. “Let’s go!”

Jamie appears in the doorway, looking amused which is a massive improvement on anxious, Tyler thinks. “Someone’s eager,” he says, grabbing his bag and following Jordie and Tyler out the door.

“Gotta get you that trophy, Benny,” Tyler says cheerfully, throwing his arm around Jamie’s shoulders and tugging him into the waiting elevator. “It’ll look nice next to that shiny gold medal in your mom’s house.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they let you keep the trophy, Segs,” Jamie tells him, nudging his hip.

Tyler rolls his eyes and pats Jamie’s cheek. “I know that, idiot. I was just trying to get you hyped.”

“He’s hyped,” Jordie interjects, rolling his eyes when they both spin around to look at him. “Hi, yes, I am here.”

“So needy,” Tyler grins, leaning in closer to Jamie just to watch Jordie wrinkle his nose.

“Gross,” Jordie mutters, which makes Tyler laugh harder than he should.

Jamie looks at him in bemusement which just makes Tyler laugh harder, and he’s still grinning when they climb into the car.

*

“Ooof, you’re heavier than you look,” Daddy complains again. “Ugh, get your sweaty hair away from me.”

Tyler turns, already knowing that Jamie’s standing there waiting to help him up. “Thanks,” he says breathlessly, tipping his head back just a little and grinning happily at him.

“Uh, here,” Jamie murmurs. Tyler tilts his head a little to make it easier for Jamie to put his helmet back on, his fingers nimbly fixing the strap under Tyler’s chin.

“Thanks bro,” Tyler says, tapping his stick against Jamie’s pads and beaming at him.

“Yeah, okay,” Daddy interrupts, his gaze flicking between them. “This is pretty offensive, guys.”

“What’s offensive?” Jordie says, popping up behind Daddy and resting his head on Daddy’s shoulder.

“These two,” Jason says, pointing at them. “They’re being all, you know, them.”

Jordie squints at them for a moment before he nods. “Yeah, they’re pretty gross.”

“Hey,” Tyler protests, vaguely insulted. He turns towards Jamie but something hits his wrist. He looks down in surprise at where his glove is dangling from his hand before it slowly falls to the ice. “Uh, ouch?”

Then the pain really hits and Tyler yelps, grabbing at his wrist except that hurts even more so he’s just standing there with his wrist angled weirdly, a fallen puck at his feet.

“Shit, sorry Segs,” Dales says, skating to a stop in front of him. There’s a weird, pained look on his face which is odd because Tyler’s the one who took a puck to the wrist.

“Fuck,” he grits out, bending down to tuck his probably broken wrist against his belly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He doesn’t look at Jamie’s worried face and lets Daddy guide him off the ice. The trainer waiting for him takes a look at his wrist and shakes his head towards Lindy, while Tyler wonders if there’s easier ways to miss the game that don’t involve broken bones or sprains.

*

He’s totally high on pain meds on the car ride home, giggling at the concerned looks that Jamie keeps shooting him.

“You’ll be okay,” Tyler manages to say before he starts laughing again. His life is crazy. “You’re gonna win the Rart Toss.”

“Art Ross?” Jamie frowns at him.

“Yeah, that one,” Tyler nods enthusiastically. “Four points. You’re gonna do it without me but it’s okay because you’ll win it.”

“Sure Segs,” Jordie says, leaning forward to prop his arms against their seats.

Tyler strokes his beard because it’s right there and it’s soft and bushy.

Jamie grabs his hand and pulls him away. “Boundaries, Segs,” he says solemnly which just sets Tyler off again.

It takes a lot of cursing and tugging, but finally the brothers get Tyler up into his apartment and into his bed, fully clothed with his arm cast carefully propped up on a cushion.

“Thanks,” Tyler says, his voice muffled by the pillow his face is smushed into.

He hears them moving around outside his bedroom, the sound of water running and dogs barking. The meds are hitting him hard and everything feels a bit hazy. His fingers feel a bit wet and it takes him a while before he realizes Cash is licking them. “Good boy,” he slurs, struggling to sit up so that he can pet him.

Tyler’s gaze slides over to the door where he can see Jamie and Jordie talking, looking weirdly intense. He hears his name and inches a little closer to listen.

“Nothing,” he hears Jamie say, sounding annoyed.

“There’s definitely something,” Jordie argues. “You’re all over each other today.”

“You know Seggy’s touchy-feely,” Jamie counters, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s what he’s like.”

Tyler grins because it’s true. He likes that Jamie knows that about him.

“Yes Chubbs, I do happen to know what Segs is like,” Jordie answers sarcastically. “And today he’s being different. I know you pretty well too and you’re hiding something. You’re both being weird today. ”

“No we’re not,” Jamie says firmly.

Tyler sees the skeptical look Jordie shoots his brother but he doesn’t say anything else so Tyler flops back down against his pillows and closes his eyes. Weariness takes over and he’s asleep within seconds.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 14)**

Tyler feels totally disoriented when he wakes up. He moves his hand and it’s obviously still Saturday since he’s got full movement back and Bruno is still singing about dragons. He’s better rested than he’s been in days though and he bounds out of bed.

He’s halfway through his shower when he remembers the conversation he overheard yesterday. Jordie’s skeptical look and his insistence that Jamie’s hiding something keep replaying in his mind as he shampoos his hair and soaps himself down. His dick is half-hard but he’s not in the mood to do anything about it, distracted by thinking about Jamie and what he’s hiding.

He’s still distracted when his mom calls, giving half-hearted answers until she finally sighs and asks him what’s wrong.

“Uh,” Tyler says dumbly. He stops and sinks down onto the top step and frowns. “I don’t know, sorry Mom. Just in a weird mood I guess. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright,” she tells him. “Good luck for the game and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Tyler tells her goodbye and exhales slowly. He’s kinda mad, he registers, but he’s also anxious. He doesn’t like Jamie keeping something from him, Tyler realizes. He needs to figure out what Jamie’s hiding, and hey, he’s got plenty of time. He’s got nothing but time.

*

Tyler drapes himself all over Jamie in the locker room as they’re getting ready for practice. The pads make it difficult but Tyler is pretty determined.

“C’mon,” Tyler says, tugging Jamie towards the door. Everyone’s on their shit about the Art Ross and Tyler’s going to take advantage today. Jamie follows him easily and they’re the first on ice.

They skate past Lindy, who’s wearing his confused face again at their early appearance, and Tyler goads Jamie into chasing him around the ice. They’re pretty evenly matched for speed and Tyler laughs as he leans into a turn. He can hear Jamie behind him and he slows down just a little, enough for Jamie to reach out and catch him, his arms wrapping around Tyler until they’re gliding, pressed closely together.

“Caught you,” Jamie says softly, his breath tickling Tyler’s neck and making him shiver.

Tyler catches Jordie staring at them as they skate past. The rest of the team isn’t paying them any attention whatsoever, but Jordie tracks them as they circle the ice together. He’s obviously seeing something different, but Tyler has no idea what. He and Jamie mess around like this all the time.

At lunch, Tyler suggests that they sit in a booth instead of the table they usually sit at and slides in next to Jamie, pressing in close. Jamie doesn’t react, apart from to rest his arm over the back of the booth behind Tyler. It’s all so normal that Tyler relaxes and enjoys his chicken, occasionally leaning over to steal a fry from Jamie’s plate.

“You feeling okay?” Tyler asks Jamie while Jordie and Daddy are arguing about who’s turn it is to get the check.

“Sure,” Jamie says. He’s so obviously lying, with his blank expression and the way he keeps rubbing his chin that Tyler shuffles closer.

“Liar,” Tyler murmurs, watching Jamie carefully.

“Shut up,” Jamie laughs, dropping his arm over Tyler’s shoulders and pinching his bicep just hard enough to make Tyler scowl. “I’m fine.”

Tyler exaggerates rubbing his arm until Jamie shoves him away, and Jordie’s staring at them again. Honestly he’s not sure what Jordie’s seeing because everything seems completely normal between them.

Daddy appears from where he’s been paying the bill, leaning down on the table and looking right at them. “There’s a waitress behind me who clearly has terrible taste because she’s been staring at one of you for the past five minutes.”

Tyler blinks before he casually leans back and looks over Daddy’s shoulder. The waitress is blonde, stacked and with legs for days. She’s gorgeous, and she’s totally staring at Jamie.

“The worst taste,” Tyler agrees, nudging Jamie. “She’s looking at you, bro.”

Jamie barely glances behind Daddy before he settles back against Tyler with a shrug. “Bad timing,” he says.

“Yeah baby, Chubbs has to focus on getting that trophy so he can have all the girls,” Daddy cheers.

Tyler shoves a fry into his face.

“Don’t be jealous, Segs,” Daddy says, picking smashed potato off his cheek. “I’m sure he’ll put in a good word for you too.”

“Shut up,” Tyler tells him, vaguely annoyed.

Daddy puts the fry in his mouth and grins.

*

Tyler has food poisoning from the damn chicken. He spends an hour throwing up everything in his stomach before he groans and collapses on the sofa with the dogs. He recites Jamie’s speech with him and starts to feel a little better.

In fact, he feels good enough that he decides to go to the bar with the boys. He hasn’t actually celebrated Jamie’s win in a few days and he’ll be stuck sipping water but he can still have a good time sober.

He knows he’s made the right decision when Jamie spots him walking in and his face lights up.

“Segs!” Jamie beams at him, clearly already a few drinks in. “You stopped puking?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Tyler says. “Congrats, man.”

Jamie flushes. “You saw?”

Tyler actually gapes at him. “Are you kidding? You thought I’d miss the game?”

“Thought you’d be too ill or whatever,” Jamie mumbles, not taking his eyes off Tyler at all. It’s weirdly intense.

“A broken wrist wouldn’t stop me from watching,” Tyler says, somewhat tongue-in-cheek. “A little bit of food poisoning is nothing. C’mon, I might not have been on the ice but I’m still your liney, doofus.” He leans over the bar and asks for a glass of water, which gets him an odd look but Tyler doesn’t really feel like explaining. He settles next to Jamie and spends most of the night teasing him when anyone congrats him, because there’s nothing more adorable than an embarrassed Jamie Benn.

“There’s a group of girls over there,” Jordie says after a few more rounds. His cheeks are ruddy and he’s leaning heavily on Daddy, who barely looks like he’s holding himself up.

Jamie raises an eyebrow. “You forget to tell me that you broke up with Jess again?”

“Fuck you, no,” Jordie says easily. “But you’re single and they’ve been looking over here for the past hour. They know who you are, bro.”

Jamie shrugs. “I’d rather just hang with you guys,” he says into his beer, one arm loose around Tyler’s shoulders. “Like, we’re celebrating. It’s a team thing.”

Daddy splutters and starts arguing about bro codes and how it’s totally okay to get laid after winning the Art Fucking Ross, Jamie Randolph Benn and it’s pretty funny for a few minutes, until Tyler glances over to the girls and realizes that they’re super hot. Frowning, he glances back at Jamie, who’s very deliberately not looking at Daddy - or anyone else for that matter.

It takes him a few more glances at the girls and Jamie before he has a goddamn epiphany. He’s standing right there next to Jamie in a bar, something he’s done a million times before, but this time he’s completely sober. And he’s watching Jamie and he’s noticing shit that he’s never paid attention to. Like the arm Jamie still has around Tyler’s shoulder. Like the way Jamie’s leaning into Tyler even though he’s talking to Daddy.

“Segs?” Jordie nudges him, looking concerned. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he says automatically before he shakes his head and moves away from Jamie, trying not to see the confused look Jamie shoots him. “No. Shit, I think I’m still feeling a bit fragile, you know?”

“Alright, you want me to come back with you?” Jordie asks.

Tyler shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll be okay. Look after this one though, yeah?”

Jordie grins and Tyler leaves him there, heading outside without even saying goodbye to Jamie. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Jamie won’t even remember in the morning.

But he will, he thinks as he climbs into a car and watches his hands shake. He shoves them under his thighs and stares out of the window. He’ll remember that there’s a very good chance that Jamie has a crush. On Tyler.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 15)**

Tyler’s first thought when he wakes up is Jamie. If he’s right, if Jamie does have a crush on Tyler, then Tyler needs to do something. He doesn’t know what, he’s gonna be flying by the seat of his pants here. But fuck, he needs to figure out if he’s right first.

He lets Jamie snark at him for being late and stays mostly silent in the car until they’re at the arena. He covertly watches Jamie strip down and get dressed for practice - Jamie doesn’t glance Tyler’s way once. Out on the ice, Tyler keeps his head down and completes every drill. Daddy doesn’t draw him into a play fight but Tyler gets momentarily lost as he remembers each time Jamie put his helmet on afterwards, his hands gentle as he fixed Tyler’s strap.

“Hey, you wanna grab lunch?” Jamie asks him hesitantly as they come off the ice.

“Um, sure,” Tyler says, sounding flatter than he means to. Jamie clearly hears it in his voice though and it’s awkward when they climb into Jamie’s car, no one really talking until they reach the restaurant. Tyler doesn’t know what the hell to say or what to do. He orders the chicken and sits back to listen to Daddy and Jordie, who’ve clearly picked up on the tension between him and Jamie, and have decided to talk very loudly to cover the silence.

It’s easier for him to keep his distance from Jamie when they’re at a table instead of squashed into a booth and he very carefully makes sure not to touch Jamie at all.

It’s fucking weird. Tyler has never worried about personal space before, especially with Jamie. From day one, he’s wriggled and shoved and squirmed his way into Jamie’s life. It’s weird to sit next to him and not sneak food off his plate or nudge him when Jamie’s being too quiet or Tyler wants to share a joke.

Every now and again he sneaks a look at Jamie when he’s certain that Jamie won’t notice. His plate is only half-empty and Tyler wonders if Jamie’s deliberately leaving his food, waiting for Tyler to help himself. The thought makes Tyler ache, and his gaze drifts upwards. He immediately regrets it when he sees the slight downturn of Jamie’s mouth and the way he’s very deliberately not looking at anyone.

Jamie is fucking miserable and it’s Tyler’s fault.

“Hey,” he says, moving his chair closer to Jamie’s. Jamie looks up in surprise before his expression quickly turns to eager.

“Hey,” he breathes and Tyler thinks, _oh_.

“You finished with that?” Tyler says. He doesn’t take his eyes off Jamie, who glances down at his plate. A tiny smile appears and Tyler exhales slowly.

“Yeah,” Jamie tells him solemnly.

Tyler doesn’t even want the now-cold fries but he eats them anyway. He hooks his foot around Jamie’s ankle and holds on because he feels like his world has done an entire 180 spin since yesterday.

He’s so shaken that it’s not until he’s dressing for the game that he realizes that he’s going to have to play, which means Jamie isn’t going to win the Art Ross and Jamie’s going to be sad. Fuck.

Tyler’s so distracted thinking about ways to cheer Jamie up that he doesn’t see the puck coming during warmups. It hits the side of his unprotected head and Tyler crumples.

He must blackout for a minute because the next thing he knows, a trainer is peering at him looking concerned and there’s a crowd of players surrounding him, looking just as worried.

“Ouch?” Tyler tries and sees some of tension bleed away.

“Let’s get you in the back,” the trainer says, helping Tyler to his feet. An arm comes around him and Tyler’s unsurprised to find Jamie helping him skate over to the boards.

“Focus on the game,” Tyler tells him, blinking a couple of times because wow, his head fucking hurts.

Jamie nods seriously, pats Tyler’s ass and skates away with his head down.

After a series of concussion tests that Tyler passes with flying colors, he doesn’t even argue when they tell him that he’s not going back out to play in the game. The season is over save for this game and it’s not worth sending him out just in case, and Tyler doesn’t argue. He does, however, convince them that he can watch the game on a screen and after he gets changed into his pants and shirt, he settles back to watch Jamie play.

There’s an edge to his game that Tyler hasn’t seen since this never-ending day began. He watches Jamie dodge a hit from Jones and then repay the favor on his next shift. Seth Jones is hardly a small player, but the ease with which Jamie nails him makes Tyler’s breath catch. He forgets sometimes how big Jamie is. There’s not much between their own heights or weight, but Jamie carries his more solidly than Tyler somehow, taking up much more space and channelling it into a pure, solid strength that Tyler just does not have.

He’s seen so many different variations of this particular game that it’s easy to let his mind wander after the hit. If what he suspects about Jamie is true, if he does have feelings for Tyler, then Tyler wants to know everything. Jamie hasn’t said a word to him, so is it just a physical thing? Does he want to hit Tyler up once and that’s why he’s kept quiet?

Or does Jamie want to be boyfriends? Does he want to take Tyler out for romantic dinners and strolls in Reverchon Park? Is Tyler ready for that? And even if he was, and honestly he highly doubts it, would be in any kind of headspace to jump right in with Jamie? His best bro. His liney. His _captain_.

His head is spinning and he’s pretty sure it’s not just from the puck shot.

Tyler sticks around long enough to see Jamie collect his last point before he heads out of the arena and goes straight home. He’s got a lot of thinking to do. Fuck, this might be the most important decision he’s ever made and he’s vastly unqualified to do it. Most of his life decisions have been made for him, ever since he chose hockey, and he’s kind of terrified that he’s gonna really fuck this up.

He shoots Jamie a quick congratulatory text before turning his phone off for the night.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 16)**

Tyler isn’t entirely sure he’s made anything close to a decision when he wakes up. He’s still mostly confused, right up until he walks into the Benn’s apartment and sees Jamie looking all huffy and cross and wonders what it’d be like to kiss him.

“Hey Segs, nice of you to finally show up.”

Tyler drifts in closer, like Jamie’s a magnet pulling him in. “Sorry Captain,” Tyler says, touching his hand to Jamie’s arm and squeezing. Jamie gives him an odd look and all Tyler can think about is kissing him.

“I’m driving,” Jamie announces.

“Of course you are,” Tyler tells him and lets Jamie usher them out the door and into the elevator.

Tyler stares at Jamie for the entire elevator ride, noticing all kinds of things that he’s never paid attention to before. Like how broad his shoulders are. Or how nicely put together his face is. And how large his hands are. Tyler shivers and licks his lips, barely noticing Jordie’s weird yelp before he pushes Tyler out of the elevator.

“Stop it,” Jordie hisses at him while Jamie strolls ahead, oblivious.

“Stop what?” Tyler asks innocently.

“You know what,” Jordie says, jabbing Tyler in the ribs hard enough to make Tyler double over, wincing.

Tyler waits impatiently until they’re stripping down for practice and the stall between them is empty. He leans over and waits for Jamie to look his way.

“Hey,” Tyler says, very deliberately letting his gaze run over Jamie’s bare torso. Tyler’s body is sculpted and defined, and he works hard to keep it that way. Jamie, on the other hand, is solid muscle and Tyler has to swallow hard before he meets Jamie’s eyes.

Jamie’s staring at him, his cheeks bright red and his eyes wide in shock. Tyler grins and bites his bottom lip. He’s an expert at this shit.

“Looking good, Captain,” Tyler murmurs and throws Jamie a wink.

“What-,” Jamie’s frozen and shit, he’s so cute, Tyler realizes with a jolt. Like, objectively he knew Jamie was handsome and cute and whatever. But today he’s seeing it over and over again and it’s a bit like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. Or dazed by a hit, he supposes idly. He wonders what Jamie would do if Tyler leaned a little closer and ran his hand over Jamie’s chest. Whether he’d blush and stammer or yank Tyler in closer, maybe.

Then he remembers where they are and he leans back and finishes getting ready, keeping half an eye on Jamie as he laces up his skates. Jamie’s watching him right back, looking confused and adorable and okay, Tyler might be having another epiphany right now in the middle of the locker room about his own feelings.

There’s an added edge of anticipation when he wrestles with Daddy and he’s breathless by the time Jamie’s hand wraps around his arm and helps him back up onto his skates.

“Thanks,” Tyler breathes, staring at Jamie’s mouth. It’s a really nice mouth, he thinks almost desperately, perfect for kissing. Fuck, he wants to kiss him.

Jamie puts his helmet on and fastens the chin strap, but before he can move away, Tyler catches his fingers, twining them with his own. “You should let me thank you,” he flirts shamelessly.

“Uh,” Jamie stammers, to Tyler’s delight.

“Fuck, I wanna kiss you,” Tyler says honestly.

Jamie’s face flames and belatedly, Tyler remembers Daddy is right next to him when he starts choking and coughing.

“Wow okay, I’m gonna just go over there,” Jason says through his coughing and skates straight towards Jordie.

“We should skip lunch,” Tyler says, warming to the idea. “Come back to mine and we can make out.”

“That’s not funny, Seggy,” Jamie says eventually, sounding hurt which fuck, is the last thing Tyler wants. Jamie tugs his hand free from Tyler’s and skates away, leaving Tyler staring after him in confusion.

He’s not deterred though. He hangs off Jamie during lunch, his hands wandering far more than they usually do. Jamie keeps batting him away until Tyler finally sits back in his own chair, pouting at him.

“What is up with you today?” Jamie asks him in a whisper while Daddy and Jordie are fighting over the bill again.

“What?” Tyler tries for innocent again but Jamie just narrows his eyes and waits. Tyler weighs up his choices. He’s almost certain that explaining that he wants to take Jamie to bed and find out what he likes and what makes him hot is probably not going to go down too well. But he’s still convinced that Jamie has a crush on him and Tyler really, really wants to kiss him. Fuck, he wants to kiss him more than he thinks he’s ever wanted anything else in his life.

Winning the Stanley Cup as a 19 year old rookie might have screwed his frame of reference but whatever. It’s still true.

“The offer’s still open,” Tyler says with a shrug. When Jamie looks blank, Tyler rolls his eyes. “We can skip naps. Or you could come nap in my bed, preferably naked, and let me kiss you.”

“Tyler,” Jamie hisses, and okay, Jamie never uses his actual name. He blinks in surprise but Jamie’s on his feet, throwing a whole lot of cash down and telling Jordie to hurry up or he’s leaving him behind. “Shut up, alright? I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you but it’s not funny and you need to stop.”

He leaves Tyler gaping behind him and storms off towards the car.

“I told you to stop it,” Jordie tells him quietly, nudging him forward and out of the restaurant.

Tyler sighs and gives Jordie a look. “Whatever you think I’m doing, I’m not,” Tyler says. His eyes track Jamie across the car park. “I swear, okay?”

Jordie tugs him in for a one-armed hug. “Let him focus on the game, yeah? You can do - well, whatever this is - after, alright?”

Tyler supposes that’s a fair request, since Jordie doesn’t know that it doesn’t matter what the hell Tyler does, so long as he doesn’t play, then Jamie will win the title. “Alright,” he agrees. He can wait a few hours.

*

Tyler misses the game thanks to a freak two touch accident that leaves him with a swollen wrist and unable to hold his stick. So he watches Jamie from the press box, yells in excitement for the millionth day in a row when Jamie gets his last assist and skips the post-win celebration to head home, his swollen wrist resting in his lap as he drives.

It takes him longer than usual to get ready as he works around his injury. He makes his own way to the bar and finds Jamie talking to Fidds, a beer in hand. Tyler watches as Jamie looks up and sees him, and even in the dark room it’s possible to see the flush staining his cheeks.

Tyler groans, because apparently he’s now got a thing for Jamie looking shy, which is terrible because Jamie spends half his life looking shy and a lot of it is in public. Tyler can’t be popping a boner every time his captain gets a little bashful. That shit would get embarrassing really fast.

He circles around Jamie, talking to the rest of the team first until he’s gotten himself under control, and then finally he finds Jamie on his own.

“Hey babe,” Tyler says softly. He’s going for smooth and non-threatening, since Jamie looks like a skittish gazelle in front of him. “Congrats on beating Sid and JT.”

“Thanks Segs,” Jamie says in that soft, sincere way he has sometimes that never fails to take Tyler by surprise. “We missed you out there.”

Tyler laughs and moves in closer. “No you didn’t,” he murmurs, his hand finding Jamie’s hip.

“Seggy,” Jamie says, sounding confused rather than annoyed. “You’ve gotta stop.”

Tyler’s close enough to feel Jamie against him. “What if I don’t want to?”

Jamie groans and Tyler tips his head back in invitation. He hasn’t been with any guys in a while, and this is dumb as hell in public, but what the hell. He gets a reset tomorrow. He wants Jamie to kiss him. He thinks he might pass out if he doesn’t feel Jamie’s lips against him right now.

“Segs,” Jamie murmurs, and then there’s a hand on Tyler’s waist, pushing him back. “I need you to stop.”

Tyler exhales slowly and lets his hand drop away from Jamie. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna go and let you enjoy your night.”

“No, hey, c’mon Seggy,” Jamie frowns and for a moment Tyler thinks Jamie’s going to pull him back, but the moment stretches out between them and Jamie doesn’t say anything else.

Tyler takes a step back. “Night, Chubbs. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Jamie nods.

Tyler turns and leaves before he embarrasses himself any further. Jamie might not remember this but Tyler will. It’s just one more moment he gets to relive over and over again in this nightmare day that never fucking ends.

 

**April 11 2015 (Day 17)**

Bruno Mars blares loudly in the bedroom, waking Tyler up with a groan. “Really?” he says into the empty room. “Again?”

Resigned, he sings along with Bruno and Taylor in the shower, pets the dogs and calls his mom.

“I was just going to call you,” she answers, sounding surprised.

“I didn’t want you to worry that I’d changed my mind about coming home this week,” he tells her.

“Oh,” she says softly. Then, “well that’s very thoughtful of you, Tyler.”

“Someone must have raised me right,” he teases.

It makes her laugh and Tyler’s mood is vastly improved by the time he hangs up. He’s still in his kitchen, dressed to go, but all of a sudden it just feels like too much. What’s the point, he wonders, reaching down to scratch Marshall’s ears. He goes to practice, breaks a bone or spends the day throwing up bad chicken, watches Jamie achieve his dreams without Tyler, then they go out, get drunk and nothing fucking changes. It doesn’t matter what Tyler does, so why bother?

“I could just stay here today and play with you guys,” Tyler tells Marshall, who looks up at him with his big soulful eyes and wags his tail softly against the kitchen tile. Cash comes bounding into the kitchen looking for food, barking excitedly when he sees his bowl is full and diving in. headfirst.

Tyler grabs his phone and sends Jordie a quick text and tells them to leave without him. He gets a line of question marks back almost immediately but Tyler throws his phone down on the counter and doesn’t reply. He’ll be back at practice tomorrow, reliving the same stupid day again, but fuck it, he’s allowed to be selfish for one day.

Tyler holds out for half an hour before he checks his phone and sees a series of texts from Jamie, ranging from concerned to anxious and yeah, now he’s mad. His last text is a simple _fuck you_ that Tyler stares at for a long minute before he sighs, grabs his things and races out of the apartment.

He’s gonna be late. He knows he’s gonna be late and that Lindy is going to scratch him for it, but apparently he’s in so deep that he can’t bear for Jamie to be pissed at him, even though he gets a reset at midnight. His car screeches to a halt, halfway between two spaces and he hustles to the locker room.

Curt’s standing there, looking apologetic but he’s also blocking the doors. “I’m only a few minutes late,” Tyler pleads, even though by the time he’s got his pads and skates on, it’s going to be more like 15.

“You know the rules, Tyler,” Curt says with a little shrug. “Lindy’s already announced that you’re not playing tonight.”

“Fuck,” Tyler drops his bag to the floor and rubs his hand over his face. “Jamie’s gonna kill me.”

“Probably,” Curt tells him with a touch of sympathy. He even drops his hand on Tyler’s shoulder as he passes by. “He’s hitting the puck pretty hard out there.”

Once he’s alone, Tyler takes a few moments to compose himself before he walks out to the rink. He stands by the open door and waits for Lindy to notice him. In the meantime, he watches Jamie hit shot after shot on goal, the sound of the puck hitting iron every now and again but mostly hitting the back of the net.

Lindy finally sees him and Tyler’s unsurprised that he doesn’t get a lecture, just a simple reminder that he’s scratched for missing practice, and that he’s expected to be here pre-game as usual, suited for the press box.

When Tyler looks back at the ice, Jamie’s staring at him. Tyler attempts a half-wave, only to watch Jamie deliberately turn his back and skate off. It’s petty, but Tyler feels like shit anyway for letting Jamie down.

He doesn’t get an invite to lunch.

*

Tyler arrives at the arena in his sharpest suit, early enough that Lindy gives him a nod of faint approval. It takes him a while to find Jamie because he’s hidden himself away in one of the corridors, sitting by himself with his head ducked down.

“Hey,” Tyler tries a small smile. Not that Jamie sees, since he doesn’t even lift his head. Tyler sighs heavily. “Look, I fucked up, okay? I’m really sorry. But if you think you need me to win that trophy, then you’re an idiot, alright? You don’t need me out there, Jamie. I know you can do it. Show everyone that you’re the best, yeah?”

Jamie finally lifts his head and stares at Tyler. It’s not the angry stare from the morning though, and Tyler feels fucking butterflies in his belly. “You can do this,” he says softly, feeling himself drifting into Jamie’s space. He wants to kiss him. He supposes that it’s a permanent thing now. He’s leaning in, lost in Jamie’s eyes steady on his, when he realizes what the fuck he’s doing and pulls back sharply, flushing.

He knows that’s not how it goes today. He knows that no matter what he wants, or how fucking desperately he wants it, that Jamie isn’t his to kiss. He can’t help Jamie win the Art Ross and he can’t kiss him.

“I’ll uh, see you after the game,” Tyler murmurs, lifting his hand for a fistbump.

Jamie hesitates but he does touch his knuckles to Tyler’s, to his relief.

“Good luck babe,” Tyler says, wincing as the endearment slips out. He turns and fucking flees, breathing hard by the time he makes it to the press box.

Tyler yells at every point Jamie collects and heads rinkside to listen to Jamie’s speech, tucked away where the fans can’t see him. He waits for a while before he heads into the locker room and finds Jamie sitting in his stall, stripped to the waist and if Tyler didn’t know better, he’d say Jamie was waiting for him.

“You did it,” Tyler says, taking a seat in Spezza’s empty stall. He tries valiantly to keep his eyes on Jamie’s face, catching them drifting downwards and quickly looking back up. “I knew you would.”

“Oh you did, huh?” Jamie teases. It’s a little flat but Tyler appreciates the effort anyway.

“Of course,” Tyler tells him honestly. “You had to get 87 points, huh? Sid’s never gonna talk to you again.”

Jamie laughs softly. “I’m sure he’ll get over it. You’re coming out tonight, yeah? Help me celebrate?”

Tyler feels warm all over. “Yeah,” he says. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Jamie looks pleased, so when Spezza returns from the showers and shoo’s Tyler away, he doesn’t even protest. He stops to speak to a couple of the guys on his way out, but when he looks back just before he leaves, Jamie’s still staring after him.

Tyler beams stupidly for the entire drive home.

*

Tyler makes his own way to the bar, weaving through the crowd until he spots Jordie’s red beard and Jamie just behind him.

“Seggy!” Jordie yells, seeing him first. Tyler wriggles his way through everyone until he’s at Jamie’s side.

Jamie hands him a beer and Tyler takes a sip, relaxing just a little now that he’s here. “A party where Jamie’s the center of attention and hating every minute of it? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tyler says, grinning when Jamie turns towards him with an overly dramatic pout.

“Give me my beer back,” Jamie says, pretending to snatch at it while Tyler holds it away from him. It gives Tyler an excuse to press up against Jamie and when Jamie gives up, his hand doesn’t move from where it’d landed on the small of Tyler’s back. Pleased, Tyler leans back into his touch.

“Hey, that first goal you scored?” Tyler says, leaning in under the pretense of making sure Jamie can hear him. “That was hot, you know?”

“Yeah?” Jamie says gruffly.

“So hot,” Tyler repeats, moving closer until he’s pressed up against Jamie, hip-to-hip. “You looked so good out there on the ice.”

Jamie looks away, but there’s definitely a smile on his face. Encouraged, Tyler nods. “Filthy hot,” he murmurs, turning his head so that his lips very faintly brush against Jamie’s ear.

“Segs,” Jamie says, turning back towards him. His eyes search Tyler’s face, and Tyler does his best to radiate both sincerity and hunger.

“Hey, there’s a group of girls over there,” Jordie says, interrupting them and nudging Tyler. “They’re definitely staring at you.”

“Nah, it’s Jamie’s night,” Tyler says without even looking, feeling adventurous and letting his hand slide under Jamie’s shirt and press against Jamie’s warm skin.

He feels Jamie shiver but he doesn’t move away. In fact, Jamie presses in closer, his thumb rubbing slow circles against Tyler’s back that are very definitely driving Tyler crazy.

“Uh, okay,” Jordie says slowly, but Tyler’s too busy looking at Jamie.

“I don’t mind, you know,” Jamie says. His hand is dipping dangerously low towards Tyler’s ass and Tyler is doing his best to silently encourage him. “If you want to hook up.”

Tyler licks his dry lips, watching Jamie watch him. “That’s good,” he says, his breath hitching as Jamie finally finds the balls to slide his hand over Tyler’s ass. “Because I kind of have my eye on someone.”

“Yeah?” Jamie murmurs, giving Tyler a little squeeze that makes Tyler groan under his breath. Jamie’s hands are so big, he thinks desperately. He wants them on his bare skin so badly.

Tyler shifts until he’s facing Jamie. Unfortunately it means that Jamie’s hand slips away from his ass but on the other hand, he gets to look Jamie square in the face. It’s a really, really nice face and Tyler feels a bit stupid for taking so long to realize it. He grabs a fistful of Jamie’s shirt and twists, pulling Jamie in closer. “I think I might be coming down with something,” Tyler says slowly, staring right at Jamie. “I think I might have to go home to bed. Lie down for a while, you know?”

Jamie’s eyes are so dark. “You probably need a hand getting home then?”

Tyler’s grin is mostly relief that Jamie gets it. “Yeah,” he nods solemnly. “I definitely shouldn’t go home alone tonight.”

Neither of them say goodnight to anyone. They slip away unnoticed and Jamie calls for a car. While they wait, Tyler leans against Jamie and keeps his hands to himself. Mostly. He’s slightly dazed that he gets to have this, finally, after so many days of going home alone. His big realization about Jamie might still be brand new, but he also thinks that it’s not, that he’s been waiting for this since the moment they met.

The car journey is fucking torture. Jamie keeps their legs pressed together and he keeps biting his lip while he stares at Tyler. He shifts a little, hard in his boxers, and eventually he has to adjust himself or he’s gonna be really fucking embarrassed. Jamie doesn’t seem to miss a single thing and he spends the rest of the journey tapping his fingers against Tyler’s thigh because he’s an asshole and Tyler wants to bang him so hard.

Thankfully the car pulls up outside their apartment block and Tyler scrambles to get out of the car, Jamie laughing behind him as he almost falls flat on his face on the sidewalk.

“Careful,” Jamie says, his hands on Tyler’s waist to keep him upright.

“Upstairs,” Tyler says, breathless. He reaches for Jamie’s hand and pulls him inside, taking the stairs because he’s not fucking waiting for the elevator. He unlocks his door, ignoring Jamie’s muffled snickers as Tyler kicks his shoes off and shoves Jamie’s towards his bedroom, shutting the door firmly on Cash’s sad face.

“So I should probably check that we’re on the same page here,” Tyler says.

Jamie blinks at him and toes off his boots. “I think so,” he says, looking around Tyler’s bedroom.

“Okay,” Tyler says, stepping into Jamie’s space and sliding his hands up Jamie’s chest before he starts undoing buttons, stopping every now and again to run his hands over Jamie’s skin and maybe whimper a little. “So I want to fuck you.”

Jamie’s fingers dig into Tyler’s hips where his hands are resting. “Okay.”

“Or you can fuck me, I’m easy,” Tyler shrugs, which earns him an amused grin from Jamie. He leans in and kisses Jamie’s shoulder, hiding his own smile. “I just, fuck, I just want you.”

“I’m right here,” Jamie tells him and fuck, finally they’re kissing. It’s hesitant at first, a delightful little press of Jamie’s lips against his, and Tyler hums his approval as he strips Jamie’s shirt all the way off and pinches his nipple, just to drag a moan from Jamie’s mouth. It’s like Jamie takes it as a challenge, because he deepens the kiss. Tyler licks the taste of beer out of his mouth and pauses, pulling back and doesn’t bother hiding his delight when Jamie frowns and tries to pull him back in.

“How wasted are you?” Tyler asks, one hand against Jamie’s chest to keep at least a few inches between them.

“Uh, pretty drunk?” Jamie shrugs, unbothered. Tyler realizes why when Jamie gently pushes Tyler’s hand away and leans in, his lips barely a whisper away from Tyler’s, and says, “but I’m sober every other moment of the day when I want to do this,” and kisses Tyler again, pulling him in until Tyler topples forward, Jamie falling onto his back with Tyler sprawled over him. Jamie exhales a startled breath, and then he’s tugging Tyler down for more kisses and letting his hands wander.

Tyler arches into him, wanting to be closer and wonders if he can remember every single detail of today so he can do it again tomorrow. If he’s stuck in today forever, this is how he wants to live it, with Jamie underneath him, giggling as he sneaks his hands into Tyler’s pants. Jamie’s lips find the curve of Tyler’s neck and he playfully bites at it, drawing a shaky moan of encouragement from Tyler before he goes to town sucking an obnoxiously visible hickey into his skin.

Tyler thinks he wouldn’t mind living the same day over and over if he gets to have this. This is enough, he realizes. It’s everything he wants.

 

**April 12 2015 (Day 18)**

Tyler wakes up feeling disoriented and foggy-headed. His hand snakes out from under the covers to switch the radio off before Bruno Mars can ruin his day.

Yesterday was perfect. He’d fallen asleep on Jamie after a very satisfying round of sex, their legs tangled and Tyler drifting off to the steady rise and fall of Jamie’s chest underneath him.

Tyler cannot wait to get Jamie in his bed again. Like, he needs to strategize, here. He needs a plan.

Tyler stretches and yawns, finally opening his eyes and finds Jamie fast asleep next to him.

Tyler yelps, an odd, high-pitched noise that wakes Jamie up. He looks disgruntled, his hair sticking out in every direction and he’s got the faint remnants of beard burn.

He looks like the best thing Tyler’s ever seen in his life.

“Stop being loud,” Jamie complains, closing his eyes again.

“Jamie,” Tyler says urgently. He reaches over and pokes Jamie’s chest just to check that he’s real. Jamie slaps his hand away without opening his eyes and okay, that felt real. “You’re here.”

Jamie frowns and sits up, looks at Tyler in confusion. “Did you not want me to stay?” he asks, reaching down to the floor for his boxers.

“What? No! I mean yes, I wanted you to stay,” Tyler says quickly. He jumps out of bed, ignoring Jamie’s lazy pout and grabs his phone, still tucked in the back pocket of his pants.

Sunday April 12, it reads and Tyler starts laughing. He feels a bit hysterical and he sinks down onto the bed, still staring at his phone. “It’s tomorrow,” he says in wonder. “It’s finally tomorrow!”

“I can leave if you want,” Jamie says from behind him.

Tyler spins around and launches himself at Jamie, smothering his beautiful face with kisses as Jamie half heartedly tries to bat him away.

“Stop it,” Tyler mumbles against his lips. “Lemme kiss you.”

Jamie shifts slightly, opening his legs wider so Tyler can fit between them. “So bratty,” Jamie murmurs, rolling his hips so Tyler knows exactly how Jamie feels about Tyler being demanding. It’s not long before they’re both breathless just from kissing and a little lazy grinding.

“This is like, something, right?” Jamie mumbles into Tyler’s shoulder. “Or like, if it’s just a one time thing, that’s cool too.”

Tyler shoves Jamie back so he can look at him. “Hell no,”’ he says, fiercer than he means to. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked for this? This is it, okay? We’re doing this. I’m committed. You’re stuck with me now.”

Jamie laughs, burying his face in Tyler’s shoulder. “Yeah? You’re committed, huh?”

“Totally gonna nurse you through your surgery, dude,” Tyler says, his hands stroking over Jamie’s hips carefully. “I gotta fly home on Wednesday or my mom’s gonna kill me but after that, yeah? In sickness and whatever.”

“God help me,” Jamie teases, flushed as he lifts his head to grin at Tyler.

“You’re committed too, right?” Tyler jabs Jamie with his elbow.

Jamie kisses him. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess you’re stuck with me too. In sickness and whatever.”


End file.
